With a shrill whistle tearing through the air, a cargo ship laden with all kinds of raw materials slowly pulled into port. This harbor, newly restored to life, was always shrouded in the stink of fish and coal smoke.
On the Venice docks, workers in old canvas clothes and smartly dressed, efficient-looking merchants had been waiting for a long time. They surged forward like a tide, their eyes glittering with hopeful light.
They all knew what the ship before them meant: a chance to strike it rich or simply fill their bellies—and, at the same time, a brutal competition.
The hold was piled high with rubber, coffee, cotton, and spices. Some ships might also carry gemstones, as well as artworks or antiques taken from those conquered lands.
An old foreman lit his pipe and said, "What a fine haul. Those damned merchants are going to make another fortune."
A young laborer asked curiously, "Grandpa, why don't we buy some too? Look, we're so close by, and there are so many of us. Those merchants definitely can't outbid us."
The old foreman was instantly choked by his grandson's naive idea. He picked up his pipe and rapped the young man on the head.
"You brat, always dreaming of pie in the sky! That rubber needs processing. Do you know how to make tires, or shoes? And that cotton and coffee—if you buy so much, do you have the capacity to process it? Who are you going to sell it to? Leave it at home to gather dust?
"And can you even afford to play with ivory, jewelry, and antiques?
"If this were a few decades earlier, I could've bought you a black woman from the British. But the law doesn't allow it now, so stop dreaming, boy."
The young man rubbed